Ruminations of a Teenage Boy
by The Fallen Sky
Summary: Like most boys his age, he's thinking about a girl.


Title: Ruminations of a Teenage Boy  
>Author: The Fallen Sky<br>Rating: M just to be safe  
>Pairing: Kick-Ass(Dave)Hit Girl(Mindy)  
>Summary: Like most boys his age, he's thinking about a girl.<br>Warning: None  
>AN: This is an AU story told from Dave's POV. That's pretty much all you need to know.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy!

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><p>He's leaning against a row of lockers, absently staring into the sea of bodies moving through the hall, fellow students on their way to their next class. His eyes are unfocused, seeing colors and shapes but no detail, no faces.<p>

His ears are filled with a cacophony of sounds, voices carrying on conversations, conversations that meld together into one unending, unbroken noise.

Through the din, he's able to hear another, single voice, much closer and clearer than the background noise, the voice of Katie, his girlfriend. She's saying something to him as she digs through her locker for books or lip balm or something, but he's not listening. As he continues to ignore her, her voice begins to fade into a low whine that slowly fades to silence as he becomes completely lost in his own bubble of reality.

He's completely unaware of the passage of time or anything happening around him. That's until something breaks through his vale of indifference, a color.

His eyes shift of their own accord, searching out this color.

Through the sea of students, he catches sight of a golden head of hair, barely visible amongst the crowd but standing out, like the sun piercing through the clouds.

His eyes focus on the golden locks, long and flowing, slightly wavy, bouncing with every movement as the owner moves through the crowd and down the hall.

As the hair moves closer to him, he's able to focus, his mind coming out of its fog of indifference, and he instantly recognizes that hair. It's _her_ hair, the hair of his best friend. Mindy's hair.

He's mesmerized by the shiny, silken strands of golden gossamer fluttering around her as if caressed by a gentle summer breeze. It's like her hair is a halo, and she's an angel.

Everything seems to move in slow motion as she makes her way through the throng of students, his eyes seeing everything as a shapeless mass, except for her. She stands out with crystal clarity, a hi-def vision in a low-def world.

Her movements seem casual, but they're filled with precision and purpose. Each step is measured and confident. Her face is relaxed, her expression neutral, but her eyes betray her, conveying the truth.

She's on alert, always on alert. Her eyes discreetly survey her surroundings, looking for any potential threat while also looking for escape routes and weapons, tactical advantages that she may need, should trouble arise.

Her hands are clenched around the straps of her backpack. To the untrained observer, it looks like she's merely looking for something to do with her hands or trying to support the weight on her back, keeping the straps from digging into her shoulders. But he knows better, knows _her_.

She's uncomfortable, always has been in this setting, surrounded by people she doesn't know, doesn't care to know, a place where she doesn't fit in, a place she doesn't really understand, not because she's incapable, but because she doesn't see the point. This isn't her world, never has been and probably never will be, but she's forced to be here, and she doesn't know exactly what to do, how to be one of the masses.

He feels for her, wishes he could ease her discomfort, wishes that he could make her realize that everyone feels like they don't quite fit in, but she sees how easy it appears for most everyone else and thinks she's unique, that she's just not meant to be like everyone else, not meant to be normal.

The truth is, he doesn't want her to be like everyone else, feels that she'd lose what makes her special if she was "normal".

Besides, he likes her just the way she is.

As if she can sense his presence or can hear his thoughts and knows that he's thinking about her, her eyes turn in his direction, immediately finding him amidst the chaos of teenage hormones and uncertainty.

The green of her eyes stands out as much as her golden hair, more so now that she's looking him the eye. He can see the moment of slight surprise and recognition, followed by a softening of her gaze as familiar comfort and genuine affection washes over her.

He's her only friend, and he always feels a special kind of pride in knowing that she trusts him, that she cares about him and that she's not afraid to show her emotions to him.

Of course, his teenage mind quickly reminds him that he's not _just_ her friend. Granted, he's been more than just her friend ever since he met her, but being her partner in costume, out on the streets isn't what he's thinking about. No, he's thinking about last night and the last few weeks before that.

He's thinking about her lips against his, her hands, shaking with excitement and nervousness, cupping his face, exploring his body, stroking his cock. He's thinking about the softness of her breasts, the weight and feel of them in his hands, the hardness of her nipples against his palms and chest, the firmness of her ass, the silky smooth skin of her legs. He's thinking about the tight, wet heat of her pussy wrapped around his achingly hard cock, squeezing him, driving him insane with need. He's thinking about her soft moans, high pitched squeaks and breathless curses as he slides in and out of her. He's thinking about her fingernails clawing at him, marking him. He's thinking about the way her thighs cradle him, the way her legs and arms curl around him holding him close. He's thinking about the way her back arches, her body shudders, her pussy clenches around his cock, milking him, the way she screams his name as she comes. He's thinking about the rush of endorphins, the high he feels knowing that he's gotten her off. He's thinking about the indescribable pleasure he feels as every nerve in his body fires at once as his cock swells and spasms, shooting thick ropes of cum into her. He's thinking about the way her name falls from his lips, reverent and breathless. He's thinking about the look in her eyes immediately afterward, their bodies still entwined, the way she seems to glow, the soft smile on her lips, the love he can feel radiating from her. He's thinking about the way he can't help but kiss that smile and the fact that she tastes like sunshine.

He's thinking about how much he needs and wants her, how lost he'd be without her.

He's thinking about the reality that he loves her, beyond thought or reason. He loves her with all that he is and has.

He's thinking about _her_, and she knows it, because that same soft smile he can't help but kiss, that smile that tastes like sunshine is on her lips, and her eyes are glowing with love and affection.

He's thinking about her, and she's thinking about him, and that has him smiling a goofy smile, a smile that says he's in love and doesn't care who knows it.

Unfortunately, like all good things, their little moment of secret remembrances and shared feelings comes to an end as she passes by him on her way to her next class.

He feels a sharp pang of loss and disappointment, but it's quickly overshadowed by the warmth he feels whenever he thinks about her.

His smile remains firmly in place even as his vision becomes unfocused once more, and he gets lost in his memories.

It's not until he feels a hand on his arm that he snaps out of his reverie. He's momentarily disoriented, uncertain of where he is, but the sound of Katie's voice, the playful concern there, reminds him of exactly where he is and who he's with.

His heart sinks, his smile fading only to be replaced by the fake smile he's mastered, the smile he uses to keep Katie in the dark about his feelings, both for her and for Mindy.

"Where were you just now?" She asks with genuine interest.

He looks at her, sees the amusement and affection in her eyes, and he thinks about telling her a lie, something that'll make her laugh or roll her eyes, but he opts to tell the truth.

"I was with the girl of my dreams." He says, his voice soft and sincere.

She smiles at his answer, clearly flattered and touched, and kisses him.

He hesitates a moment before tentatively kissing her back. She doesn't seem to notice that he's not as into the kiss as he should be or as she is, and he's glad for it. Still, part of him wishes she'd realize that he wasn't talking about her and that she's not the girl he wants to be kissing.

One of these days, he's gonna have to tell her it's over, but he's afraid she'll figure out why, or rather for whom, he's dumping her, and he'd rather the whole world didn't know that he's in love with a 13 year old.


End file.
